


Excuses, Excuses

by lightofdaye



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Big Brother Ron, Blow Jobs, Brotherly advice, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Minor Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 21:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13373868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightofdaye/pseuds/lightofdaye
Summary: Ginny's always making excuses.





	Excuses, Excuses

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2017 [Smutty Claus](http://smutty-claus.livejournal.com) Exchange.

Blaise Zabini had never apologised in his life for enjoying the finer things that came his way. In his youth, it had hardly been his fault. Could he be blamed that his mother had been unlucky in her choices of husbands? That they had all been both rich and short-lived was nothing but coincidence as far as he knew.

Since leaving school, Blaise had worked – no harder than he had to of course, that was just common sense – to maintain the standard of living to which he become accustomed. 

And there was nothing finer, in Blaise’s opinion, that the sight of Ginny Weasley on her hands and knees in his bed. 

Ginny had an athlete’s build; slim, limber and lithe. Her face, neck and forearms were all tanned and weather beaten, but the rest of her skin was pale with freckles standing out in vivid contrast. Her red hair that was usually tightly bound into a chaser’s tail, instead hung loose down to the sheets of his bed, in a shining fall of scarlet.

“I know you like to watch,” Ginny said, with a sinuous shake of her body, waving her arse in Blaise’s face and setting her red hair swaying. “But you are allowed to do more, you know, if you like.”

He extended a hand, two fingertips tracing a line down her back roughly in line with her spine, wandering from freckle to freckle. She was warm to touch and made a soft noise as his touch wove its way down to her arse and between her legs, cupping her pussy.

Ginny groaned and squirmed pushing herself down on to his hand as his fingers searched and rubbed her clit.

“Fuck, Blaise,” she moaned, her voice low, “do it.”

Blaise made a small contented noise but said nothing. One hand continue to play with Ginny’s clit while the other stroked the entire length of his cock, coaxing him back into full hardness; the delay of getting them both undressed had caused him soften slightly but it hardly took an effort to rectify that with Ginny squirming and panting in her eagerness.

He placed the tip of his cock against her entrance, rubbing it up and down, coating the head of it with her wetness. Ginny bucked against him but his other hand moved to seize her hip and hold her in place.

“Easy,” he murmured, the most he’d said so far. 

He took a deep, calming breath.

And _then_ he sank into her.

It was an indescribable feeling, sinking inch by inch inside Ginny, her pussy parting and stretching around his girth. He rocked back and forth, slowly at first, giving her time to adjust, time for his cock to become slick.

He moved slowly but not precisely gently as Blaise had learnt early on that Ginny didn’t want to be treated gently or softly. A sure way to gain her ire was to treated her like she might break.

So he didn’t. He quickly quickened his pace, thrusting rapidly into her as she bucked and pushed back into him as he moved , each thrust punctuated with a soft cry from Ginny as his hips slapped against her bum, his hand tight around her waist, his grip and the impacts reddening her pale skin. 

Ginny’s arms couldn’t and did not withstand such a pounding for long and nor did Blaise’s hands stay still, they worked their way upwards winding around her body and pulling her back close to his chest even as they both sank low and flat upon the bed. Blaise rode her hard and fast, his face nuzzling at her shoulder and the crook her neck, pressed against the tangle of her hair, so even with her cries, she could still hear the loud pants and soft moans of his own pleasure.

It felt magnificent burying himself in Ginny’s wet folds, his balls churning, tight and tense against his body as he felt ready to come. It wasn’t without a certain sense of supreme satisfaction that Blaise felt Ginny shudder and clamp down on his cock, once, even twice before he came. All the while her hands were clawing and grasping at both him and his Egyptian cotton sheets alike. 

Blaise rolled off her and lay on those same cotton sheets, immensely comfortable and light headed, content enough that he felt like he could lie there, stretched out to his fullest extent, all night if allowed.

Ginny did not feel the same way at all it seemed. As fit as she was, she recovered quickly even from this kind of exertion and she did not believe in basking in the afterglow. Not a couple of minutes after they were done, she was leaping to her feet and out of his bed. 

Slowly, Blaise propped himself up on an elbow and watched her dress herself. It wasn’t quite as nice as the reverse, seeing her pull lacy knickers back on and deftly do up the clasp of a bra.

“Not staying?” he said as she settled her robes back down over her body. 

“Can’t stay here,” Ginny said shortly. “Practice tomorrow.”

Blaise made a noncommittal noise. 

“People will wonder what’s going if I go there from here.”

 _Not if you Apparated or used the Floo,_ Blaise thought. _No-one would know where you Disapparated from._ But what he actually made was a noncommittal noise. 

Ginny ran her hands through her hair, futilely trying to get it regain some of its former silkiness and Disapparated with a faint popping sound.

Blaise flopped back onto his sheets, twining his hands together and resting his head upon them as he looked up at his ceiling. If anyone else had still been in the room to see him, he would have looked the very picture of relaxation.

The truth was slightly different, of course, it always was. Blaise was used to excuses, he had heard them all the time through out his youth, doubly so when he had started his career. Usually they bounced off him like water of a mermaid’s fins.

So why did it bother him so much when Ginny Weasley did it?

– 

The Leaky Cauldron was not as busy as it had been a decade or so previously. Fashions had moved on in the wizarding world and the old pub had been left behind, despite its best efforts. While it still had many people coming and going into Diagon Alley through its back passage, the only people that actually stayed to drink were oddballs, strange creatures and unreconstructed,old-fashioned Slytherins. 

All in all, Blaise thought, it was the perfect place to meet Draco Malfoy and his fiancée. Engagement seemed to suit Pansy Parkinson quite well. She looked happy and radiant and clung to Draco’s side for most of the evening. 

Their drinks came over. A pair of tall dark pints of bitter for Draco and Blaise. And a fancy cocktail with a charmed cherry floating half a centimetre above the surface of the drink. (One of the Leaky’s attempts to keep with the times.)

They looked at the drinks. They drank the drinks.

The next round was shots. Blaise had never liked red current rum but Draco like it.

They looked at the drinks. They drank the drinks.

The third round was slightly blurry mugs of spiced mead.

“Are you going to tell us why you asked us out here?” Draco said, holding his mug in both hands.

Blaise didn’t respond. 

They looked at the drinks. They drank the drinks.

None of them were in any hurry to down the next round and their firewhisky on the rocks was slowly becoming merely weak whisky.

“So there’s a girl...” Blaise started and then stopped.

“Oh Merlin,” Draco said, sipping his firewhisky. “Here it comes. Are you asking me for relationship advice?”

“I am in no way asking you for relationship advice.”

“That’s why we’re three rounds in before you say a word, because it’s just casual chitchat,” Draco shot back.

“I’m in no way asking you for advice, Malfoy,” Blaise insisted and inclined his head towards the other person at the table. Pansy’s smile wasn’t so much a smile as a toothy grin, more suited to a large cat than a person.

“He wanted _my_ advice, dear,” she drawled.

 _Naturally_ Blaise thought.

“There is, of course, a price,” Pansy continued. “You’ve got to tell me who the lucky lady is.” 

“No,” said Blaise without really thinking.

Pansy pouted and looked away. 

“Well, look who's come crawling back,” Draco chortled as Blaise faced him again. “I’ll tell you what I’d do if Pansy ever fell out with me.”

 _Unlikely,_ Blaise thought. _Since she’s adored you since the moment she set eyes on you._

“I’d buy her something nice so she’d like me again. Emeralds are a witch’s best friend as they say.”

Pansy arched an eyebrow and looked like she wanted to object to this statement but considering the jewellery glittering on her wrists and at her throat she didn’t seem to have any grounds to do so. 

They looked at the drinks. They drank the drinks.

 

The next morning, Blaise spent some time preparing anti-hangover potions, pondering half-recalled advice and hoping his drinking partners had remembered even less of their evening than he had.

Still, against his better judgement, Blaise decided that some kind of gesture was called for.

– -

Blaise had thought long and hard about the gesture and all the possible responses it might receive. In fact, it had more than normally preoccupied him while he was at his job. His mind returned to it frequently even when he was sorting through ledgers and topping up investments. 

Ginny Weasley Apparating into his office with the sound of a whip crack and face as dark as a thunderstorm had not been at the top of list of likely reactions, hadn’t even made the top fifty.

But her she was, hair pulled back to show the sharp features of her face clearly, a scowl creasing it as she stormed into his office.

She threw something that landed on his desk.

“What’s that?”

“A gift,” Blaise said softly.

“The owl arrived at my team’s breakfast.”

“That’s when the post arrives,” he murmured.

“Now people are going to be asking questions.” 

“You don’t have to answer them if you don’t want to.” 

“What are you playing at, Blaise?” Ginny gesticulated at him.

“Not playing. Thought you might like something nice for Christmas, that’s all.”

“Oh, yes,” Ginny snapped. “I read your note.” Her voice rose in an imitation of singing, “ _On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, A Pendant of a Harpy._ ” 

Blaise said nothing. The item he’d picked out had been a version of the Holyhead Harpies logo done in various kinds of previous metals, rose, white and yellow golds. A quite beautiful piece of jewellery, if his sense of taste had not deserted him, which he considered quite impossible.

“Well, I’ve got news for you. The first of December isn’t the first day of Christmas. You’re not my true love, and do you think I can be bought?”

“Can you?”

“No!”

“Then why assume I think so?” Blaise asked, his voice low but tight with suppressed emotion. “I know that, Ginny. I wouldn’t be interested if you were.”

“Why are you trying to make people wonder about us? I wear that and everyone will admire it.”

“I hope so.”

“And want to know where I got it.”

“Are you so worried people will find out you’re with a former Slytherin?”

“Oh, not at all,” Ginny said, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s that I’m dating a banker.”

_More excuses. Doesn’t your brother work for Gringotts?_

“Well, I’ve seen the error of my ways,” Blaise said coolly. “I shall not bother you again.”

“Good!” Exclaimed Ginny, though Blaise through he saw something flash over her face, that he hadn’t seen there before. It was something like self-doubt. 

– – 

The Burrow was nothing but a hubbub of noise and motion. Innumerable redheaded figures moved throughout the house, leavened slightly by the differently hues and complexions of the growing numbers of partners or spouses the family was acquiring. Everyone was fully occupied either cooing over the newly arrived baby Victoire or adding another layer to the decorations. 

The house was already covered in festoons of tinsel and boughs of holly, and Christmas cards from friends and family but in the Weasley household decorating had always been as much the party as the event itself and so no-one really wanted to stop.

And Ginny watched it all from one corner, alone. 

It was not something that she really expect to last with her family and nor did it. After about quarter of an hour, Ron came up to her, clutching a bottle of butterbeer in each hand and grinning at her.

“Are you ready to admit it yet?” he said, jokingly.

“Admit what?” Ginny frowned.

“Me and Hermione are clearly the best couple here,” Ron said, taking a sip out of his bottle.

“Keep telling yourself that, Ron,” Ginny shot back.

“I will,” Ron replied and offered her one of the butterbeers. 

“What’’s this?”

“It’s to make this whole thing less awkward,” Ron said. “Because I was about to ask what was the matter with you.” 

“Nose out, Ron!” Ginny snapped. ”If you like it the shape it is, that is.” 

“But I wasn’t going to because I figured that’s what you’d say,” Ron continued blithely, taking a pull of his butterbeer. “Instead I was going to offer some advice.”

“I don’t want your advice either.”

“Well, you get it anyway; brother’s privilege.”

“I don’t see, Bill or Charlie or Percy butting in,” Ginny retorted.

“Oh, they would if they’d been around enough to see the mood you’re in.”

“Mood?” Ginny asked, moodily.

“Uh-huh.” Ron looked totally unimpressed. “Look here’s the advice. You remember yelling at me that one time? I mean the specific time I caught you with Dean. I ran off and ended up with Lavender.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Ginny said, flushing slightly.

“Not my point,” Ron said, waving the now empty bottle. “And not my finest hour. But really, you know why that hurt so much? You know why it took me and ‘Mione so long to get together? Because we were never honest with each other and ourselves about what we wanted.”

He shrugged.

“So you don’t have to tell me what’s up with you. You just need to be honest with yourself. That’s all. Talk over.”

Ginny frowned for a long moment and then…

“Not bad advice. From someone with the emotional range of a teaspoon.”

“Hey, I’m older now. Hermione says my emotional range is up to a tablespoon. Maybe even a dessert one!”

Ginny laughed and Ron beamed at her. Then he plucked the untouched butterbeer from her hands and took a swig.

“You know you’re a lot less scary when you’re like this, little sis,” he said and walked off, chuckling to himself.

Ginny could hardly bring herself to be angry with him. 

– – -

It was a week after their little… disagreement that the note arrived born by a little Scops owl of the kind that Ginny favoured. It ruffled its feathers importantly and flew off as soon as Blaise relieved it of its letter. 

He paused a long moment before opening it but the contents were quite civil. It was an invitation to dinner. It was unlike the invitations to dinner they’d sent each other over the last few months: it was for much earlier in the evening, for example, and looked to involve actual food at an actual restaurant. 

Blaise sat at his desk, drumming his fingers on the edge of it. There was every chance that Ginny was playing some kind of game with him. In his line of work, and in all prior experience, it was never bad to assume that someone was playing games with you. Then again, it wasn’t as if he didn’t play games himself, and play them well. 

He penned a brief note of acceptance and sent it off, though he kept his language cagey. If she was genuine nothing he’d said would hurt but if she was playing a game, well… best not to give too much away.

She’d picked the restaurant and it was a Muggle one, out of the way. Muggle inventions and venues had become more popular in the wizarding world of late, pushed on by a post-war surge in affection for Muggleborn wizards. Blaise was no enthusiast for the new regime and dating a Weasley was about as far as he intended to unbend on that front but he was familiar enough with the places and customs from work events, so if Ginny had hoped to unbalance him, she was unlikely to succeed. 

He picked out his best Muggle suit for the evening; a light grey jacket and trousers and silver shirt picked to flatter, and contrast with, his dark complexion. It was immaculate and entirely passable as genuine Muggle apart from the fact he’d never been able to do up the incomprehensible neck tie.

Blaise knew he made a fine figure as he swept into the restaurant, even as he had to brush off the last of the snow flakes that had settled on him outside, but that was nothing to the sight that awaited him at the table the waiter indicated. Ginny Weasley in a slinky black dress that clung to her slender form. Her only concession to the winter cold was a green shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and her red hair was pulled up into a shiny complex knot behind her head.

“Surprised?” she said, one eyebrow arching over a twinkling brown eye, as Blaise slid into the seat next to her, suddenly aware of the beating of his heart, and the stirring of excitement in chest. The game was afoot.

“Not really,” he said. “You invited me.”

“Surprise to receive the invitation?”

“Maybe a little.” Blaise smirked at her. “But then I am irresistible.” 

“Maybe,” Ginny said, locking her gaze on him. “Or maybe, I figured out what I wanted.”

“Don’t tell me,” Blaise said softly. “It would ruin the mystery.”

To his very great surprise, Ginny just laughed and waved over their waiter. 

During the starters, Blaise came to a conclusion: no-one was watching them, no-one seemed to recognised them and, in fact, no-one was paying them any attention at all other than could be expected to be paid to two people of their ludicrously attractive looks. In fact, this seemed to be a place that was unknown to any other witches and wizards. It seemed Ginny really had picked a private spot for their meal. 

They chatted amiably through out their main course, fine wine and good food softening their reserve. Blaise valiantly tried to keep his reserve and perhaps failed based on the smile on Ginny’s face when, halfway through the meal, her bare foot traced the way up his leg from ankle to near his knee and there it stayed for the rest of the meal.

“You know,” she said as their plates were taken away. “I don’t think much of the desserts here.”

“Do you not?”

“No. Do you think you might have something for me at home?”

“I might just,” Blaise said, carefully, excitement bubbling up in his belly even as fought for his usual stoicism.

They paid and left the restaurant quickly, trotting along together to a nearby place where they could Disapparate out of the view of Muggles. The heavens had opened, and the snow was falling thicker and faster even as they walked.

Blaise held Ginny by the arm and pulled her close.

“You ready?” he asked, about the Apparition. 

“Always,” Ginny said, her voice a sultry purr, answering a different question entirely. Blaise Disapparated, carrying them both to his bedroom.

Ginny clung close to him and did not let go. His head angled down. Her hand reached up to clasp him.

“I told you, I know what I want.”

She kissed him slowly and passionately, her body undulating up against his, pressing her against his chest. Her tongue teased and lashed against his. Blaise snaked his arms around her, keeping her close. 

Ginny moaned and tossed her head back when the kiss ended and Blaise took the opportunity presented. He placed a kiss just under the line of her jaw, and worked downwards. Her grip on his head tightened and he felt the vibrations of her moan as he pressed his lips to her throat.

The shawl was tossed aside revealing the low cut of the dress to Blaise’s questing mouth. The straps of the dress were flimsy and slipped off Ginny’s shoulders without further ado. Ginny’s chest heaved and her breasts looked as if they were bidding to spill out of her dress as Blaise kissed at her cleavage.

By way of counter-attack, Ginny’s hands moved downwards. Blaise felt them scrabbling at his chest as his jacket was cast off and his silver shirt was torn open, cool air washing over his chest. 

Then Ginny did something she’d never done before. She knelt before Blaise, her hands working his belt buckle. It was unexpected, it wasn’t like she’d never given him a blow job before but never in this position with him standing over her. His heartbeat increased still further as she tugged down his trousers and boxers so he could step out of them. His shoes had long since been kicked off. 

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked.

“Oh yeah,” Ginny said softly. 

She ran her tongue down the length of his cock, drawing a long ragged moan from his lips. She swirled her tongue over his bollocks leaving his balls slick before returning to his cockhead and sucking, hard enough to hollow her cheeks. Blaise growled and his legs tensed; he felt as if they might fail him entirely. He reached out for balance but all he could find to grip was Ginny’s head. 

He clasped her, the scarlet knot of hair coming undone and spilling strands of her hair in every direction. Her hands griped his arsecheeks and squeezed. They moved in perfect harmony, her hands pulling his hips forward, his pulling her head down. Ginny made an odd noise and Blaise’s cock pushed deep into her throat before they retreated again. 

“Oh, fuck!” Blaise intoned as Ginny’s mouth descended again, swallowing him up until Ginny’s face was pressed against him and he was in terrible danger of unloading right into her mouth. “I want you so badly.”

Ginny’s mouth popped free of his cock but her hands moved to start stroking him, keeping him hard. She grinned up at him, a wicked glow in her brown eyes.

“I like it when you say things like that,” she said.

“Thinks like, I want you in my bed, Ginny.”

“Definitely.”

“I want you in my bed, Ginny.”

She came unsteadily to her feet. Her dress slipped down her body and her last remaining piece of clothing–wet panties–followed them to the floor.

They kissed again, naked body pressed against naked body, the stripe of hair over her mound tickled against his cock as she pressed herself against him.

They moved towards the bed, Ginny tumbled backwards into it and Blaise pounced. Kissing her between her legs and working upwards, he kissed her lips alongside her mound, her belly button. Each one of her modest sized breasts were a perfect mouthful and he teased her hard nipples with the tip of his tongue, all the while crawling further up on top of her until he was gazing directly into her eyes.

They snogged, lying entwined, his arms under her shoulders to caress her hair, hers working up and down his back. They kissed even as they reached their hands between them to line him up, even as he slipped into her with one smooth long stroke.

Blaise’s hips moved sinuously, rising and falling constantly, his cock engulfed in Ginny’s velvet heat, not forcefully but constantly, unrelentingly. Between kisses. words spilled from his mouth like they never had before, a constant refrain of, “Oh, fuck, oh, Ginny,” repetitive but reverent.

Her arms and legs wrapped around him urging him and her voice raised in pitch, returning his endearments with gasps of, “Blaise” and “I want you.” 

Blaise’s orgasm was a sudden, mind-spinning rush even as Ginny’s legs shook and she buried her face against his neck. They sprawled insensate on his bed for quite sometime.

Slowly he came back to himself, and even more slowly, he realised Ginny was still lying in his bed.

He propped himself up on his side and looked down at her lying flushed and glowing on his bed.

“I can light the fire, you know, if you want to Floo out of her,” he said, probing her as he might touch a sore spot to see if it still hurt.

“Hmm?” Ginny said and then glanced at his window. “Oh no, I couldn’t be travelling in this weather, you know.”

Blaise looked: snow was swirling outside his window, so thickly it looked like mobile fog, and it had piled up high on the sill outside. Doubtless anyone without magic _would_ find travel very difficult. 

“Of course,” he murmured and Ginny rolled over and snuggled up into his him, her arm flung over him and her hair spreading across his chest. “You’re right where you should be.”

It had been another excuse, but one that kept Ginny in his bed. He could live with that.


End file.
